


sparring practice?

by thatsn0m00n



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, admitting feelings, also implied ketbine, implied kanera but when isn’t kanera implied lmao, just taking a detour from canon and saying ezra didnt disappear and kanan didnt die in s4, just two clowns being dudes, skrrt skrrt around that canon, theres a lotta tropes in here so im not gonna tag em, this is just self-indulgent angsty fluff who am i kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsn0m00n/pseuds/thatsn0m00n
Summary: This was an idea that I got while writing my full length Trizra fic that I couldn’t really find a space for. So I wrote it by itself and it turned into this, way longer and cheesier than it needed to be and took me way too long to write (you’ve been warned).
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Alrich Wren, Ezra Bridger & Sabine Wren, Ezra Bridger/Tristan Wren
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	sparring practice?

* * *

"Sabine to Ezra? You there, kiddo?"

Ezra's head swiveled around to see Sabine standing behind him. He'd been watching the snowflakes dance outside the window, frosty winds whipping around the Wren stronghold. The thick transparisteel windows were somehow managing to block out all the cold, and the chill could only be felt if ungloved hands were pressed against the surface. Snow was a frequent visitor on Lothal, where the winter season brought large, slushy snowflakes down from the sky. It got cold, but it was never _this_ frigid. 

"Yeah, sorry," he said, shrugging. The portrait of Ursa Wren loomed over Sabine's head, eyes seeming to follow him around and register his every move. 

Sabine crossed her arms, leaning against the window. Or, as well as she could, with armor plating covering her shoulders. "Mother says the storm should lift after a few hours. We'll be grounded for a while until we can go back to Yavin."

Ezra sighed, the thought of being stuck inside with Sabine's family rolling around his brain like in a pinball machine, but a violent one. Ursa made him nervous with her menacing gaze, and Alrich made him— well, no. He liked Alrich enough. Ever since he’d saved him from that convoy, Alrich seemed particularly fond of him. Tristan, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. When Sabine had told him that Tristan was her little brother, he didn't believe her. The boy was tall, built like a stone statue, and at least in the presence of Ezra, was nearly as expressive as one. He'd only talked to him once or twice, but often caught him staring across the room in his direction. His helmet left him completely unreadable, and the only energy he gave off that Ezra could sense was something like apprehension. Ezra decided to chock it up to dislike immediately, much to his own dismay.

Sabine, in their previous discussions about him, had told him that Tristan had been a very kind boy when they were younger. Quiet, and just as emotionally mysterious as his mother. In fact, Tristan seemed to be a carbon copy of Ursa. She also said that as he had grown he'd been gifted, as she said, one of the strongest cases of " _resting bitch face_ " that she'd ever seen. She and her brother had eventually come closer after her return, and were trying to make up for the years Sabine had been away. And for some Force-forsaken reason, she suggested that Ezra tried to do the same with him.

It wasn't that Ezra didn't _want_ to talk to the boy— he did, a lot. The first time he'd seen him, that day out in the snow, he'd barely been able to process the fact that he'd almost killed him—only because when Tristan removed his helmet before his sister, Ezra was immediately caught up in the sharp, golden brown gaze he swept over his visitors. He found himself wanting those eyes on him again, and every time it happened, a peculiar feeling tumbled around in Ezra's stomach, one that he was too embarrassed to admit to anyone. So, yes, Ezra did want to talk to Tristan— it was just that Tristan didn't seem to want to talk to _him_. Ever since he'd arrived on Krownest with the crew, Tristan had actively avoided talking to him as much as possible. He didn't feel angry to Ezra, or so he could sense, but the boy's stature made it so that he didn't want to get in the way of whatever Tristan was feeling at the moment, lest he be unfortunately shish-kebab-bed on his own lightsaber.

"Exactly how many hours?" he asked, remembering their conversation.

Sabine shrugged. "She didn't specify. I'd give you four to five. We might have to stay the night."

Ezra sighed, pressing his forehead against the viewport. The chill seeped through, and he did his best to ignore it. 

“It’s so cold here, Sabine. So _kriffing_ cold.”

"Hey, you'll get to sleep on an actual bed for once, instead sharing a bunk with Zeb. Though I'm not sure where..." Sabine put a finger to her chin. The stronghold had been filled with refugees lately, as the locals of Krownest had sought shelter there from the ongoing Imperial raids. Spare rooms were filled with extra cots for them, and the warriors who usually stayed off-site with their families.

Suddenly, the door across the main chamber slid open, and Tristan Wren himself came strolling inside. He visibly stiffened at the sight of Ezra, to the Jedi's dismay, removing his helmet almost begrudgingly and looking across the way to Sabine, expression impassive.

"Mom asked for you in the briefing room," he said, glancing swiftly at Ezra before continuing, "She and the others are discussing the storm, and they need your input."

"Do they need me too?" Ezra asked.

Tristan shrugged, tucking his helmet in the crook of his arm. "They just asked for Sabine."

Sabine looked to Ezra in almost mock pity as he deflated, obviously not wanting to be left alone in the stronghold again. "See you in a bit," she said, leaving the two boys in the main chamber accompanied only by the faint howling of the wind outside.

Ezra and Tristan stared at each other for a moment, the taller boy standing eerily still and the shorter looking down and scuffing his boot on the floor, arms crossed.

"Does it normally snow this much?" Ezra asked, trying to make conversation.

Tristan blinked with those beautiful eyes, then replied. "Not every day, no. One this bad happens once or twice in the winter season."

"You have...any _other_ seasons here?" Ezra asked. Tristan's body visibly relaxed, only a little, and let out a soft chuckle. Probably the first one Ezra had heard from him, ever. It was pleasantly deep, and felt like warm syrup in Ezra's ears.

"Yeah. We have a spring...sorta. It gets warm to the point that most of the snow melts. Lasts a couple of weeks, then the snow picks back up again."

"Ah." Ezra glanced out the window again, noticing that Tristan's gaze had softened slightly while looking at him.

Or he was imagining it.

"Does it not snow, where you're from?" Tristan asked.

Ezra looked to the bright purple pauldron on Tristan's shoulder, and the red and yellow Loth-cat painted on top. "On Lothal? Yeah, but not _this_ much."

They both went silent again. Tristan bounced a fist off his thigh, shuffling his feet slightly.

"Sparring practice?"

"Hm?"

Tristan looked down at Ezra's feet, then gazed back up to the top of his head. "Sparring practice," he stated. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and out the door. "Wanna...?" His voice faltered, brows furrowing together slightly. Ezra caught a wave of a different emotion— embarrassment? Or maybe unease?

The offer in itself was odd at best, but the idea of being alone with Tristan, purposefully, was enough to make his stomach flip.

"Sure," Ezra said, accepting the offer and trying not to sound too excited. "Just, uh. Gimme a minute."

Tristan's eyebrows raised a little, betraying his usually stoic demeanor and showing a mix of pleasure and surprise.

"Oh, uh. Great! Cool!" His helmet went back between his hands. "I'll see you in a few."

Ezra watched him leave, puzzled.

* * *

Ezra followed the halls to one of the empty rooms in the back of the stronghold, remembering Sabine mentioning it in her brief tour when they had arrived. When the door slid open, he found Tristan standing near one of the benches by the door, removing his armor from his arming doublet. Even without the stiffness of his pauldrons and shoulder plating he looked impressively sturdy, the silhouette of his wide shoulders imposing against the white blur out the window behind him. He nodded to Ezra, then reached behind his head and pulled off his doublet, leaving him in the grey undershirt and pants he wore underneath all of his armor. It was an odd sight, honestly, to see the boy devoid of so many layers. Ezra found that he had just assumed he'd ate, lived, and slept in his armor.

Tristan nodded to the wall behind Ezra, hunching over to remove his boots. "Weapon rack is back there. Choose whatever you want."

Ezra approached the rack, finding staffs of different lengths, two sets of each, and dulled down wooden swords and knives. After skimming over his choices, he unbuckled his belt and tossed it aside, then took one of the staffs from the higher shelf. But, he was too short to reach it, and after hopping up on one foot and trying to grab it, he resorted to using the Force to bring it down. It set down gently in his outstretched fingers as he turned to see Tristan in mild awe. _Perfect_.

"None of that," Tristan said after a second, shaking his head at Ezra.

"None of _what_?" Ezra asked, flashing the boy a smile. Tristan rolled his eyes, another new sight.

"None of the Force stuff," he said, crossing the room and plucking the matching staff from its hooks with ease, gaining him a glower from Ezra. “It’s cheating.” 

"You're just jealous."

"Nah," Tristan backed onto the mat, leaning against his staff as Ezra removed his own boots and jacket, down to his pants and the yellow undershirt he wore. "I think my life would be infinitely harder if I had that to worry about."

He had a point.

"But you have a height advantage," Ezra argued, wanting to win. "It equals us out."

Tristan shook his head and grinned slightly, white teeth flashing as he took fighting stance. Ezra liked his grin a whole lot. He liked a lot of things about Tristan's face, he found. It was actually very perfect, at least to Ezra's judgement. He had a nice nose, defined jawline. His mouth seemed to be perpetually pouting, and his lips looked obnoxiously soft—

"I don't think that's how that works," Tristan said, snapping Ezra out of his train of thought. He nodded to him. "You first."

Ezra lunged out first, staff nearly smacked out of his hands when Tristan countered him. He took a step back, adjusting his grip before lunging again, this time able to keep the staff in his hands. Tristan grunted, clearly not expecting Ezra to be able to hold his own. Ezra himself was also stunned by Tristan's abilities, nearly getting a staff to the face when his eyes spent too much time on the boy's arms. He snapped out of it again, remembering that this boy could squash him like a bug, and set out on winning.

They danced around each other for a while, leaning in for swipes and backing away in defense. Ezra, the more agile of the two, was capable of moving around Tristan faster. He tried using this to his advantage, but his plans were thwarted when it became obvious that Tristan's spatial awareness was too heightened for him to do any good. He was just as good at blocking behind himself and throwing Ezra off, giving him time to spin around and start his own offense. It was starting to bother Ezra that he couldn't get an upper hand, and Tristan remained just as stoic through the fight as ever, visibly unshaken as Ezra attempted to throw him off his feet.

Ezra twisted around one of Tristan's lunges instead of blocking, throwing Tristan out of his groove a bit from the undelivered parry. This gave him a slight advantage as he swiveled his hips, stepping to the side and smacking Tristan's staff away from him. The boy's eyebrows raised as he tried to counter, not able to turn his body in time as Ezra swept his feet, knocking him firmly to his rump. Ezra then moved to pin him, but had his own staff ripped from his hands.

Tristan pulled him down into a headlock, trying to knock Ezra off his own feet and onto the floor. Ezra lost focus for a moment, feeling the muscles in the arm wrapped around his head flex as Tristan struggled to keep him from slipping away. Force above, were they made of durasteel? And how did he smell so nice?

Ezra eyed Tristan's disposed staff, lying nearby, and kicked out a leg. Tristan noticed what he was doing but it was too late, as Ezra gripped it with his toes and used it to pry Tristan off of him, pinning the larger boy down to the ground. He held it at the boy's neck, feeling his chest rise and fall under him as he tried to catch his breath. He looked as if he were barely able to register the fact that he had lost, eyes wide and short bangs soaked with sweat and plastered to his forehead. The scent Ezra had smelled earlier came back up— a sort of spicy sweet smell that reminded him of the marketplace on Lothal. Tristan was gazing up at him a little too softly, arms raised above his head instead of trying to fight back. He looked...desperate wasn't the word, but Ezra didn't quite know what else to call it. Needing? Yearning?

The boys watched each other for a brief second, Ezra feeling Tristan's eyes flitting around his face. His own trained onto his lips, reddish-pink and—

Suddenly, Ezra tossed his staff away and and bowed his head, and the taste of salt met his mouth. He hummed quietly as he drew his fingers down Tristan's face and neck, feeling his warm, soaked skin under them. Then, his eyes snapped open and he sat back, scuttling backwards off of Tristan and climbing to his feet. Tristan did the same, backing a few feet away from him. They both stared at each other, wide-eyed and shocked, as they gathered what had just happened.

"What the _kriff_ was that?" Tristan asked.

"I-I'm sorry," Ezra stuttered, feeling his heart drop in his chest a little at Tristan's shocked tone. He wanted to kick himself. "I just...I thought you wanted to..." he stuttered, palms held flat out in front of him. "You're so hard to read sometimes!"

"Oh, _I'm_ hard to read?" Tristan asked. "You come into my house constantly, with your smiles and your jokes and your...your..." he let out a groan, pressing his face into his hands. "Constant flirting!"

Ezra tried to piece together what Tristan was saying, watching as the boy rubbed his face exasperatedly.

"So...wait a minute." Tristan looked up at him. "You...like me?" Ezra asked. "And you're mad because I kissed you?"

"For kriff's sake, Bridger," Tristan complained, "You didn't even let me court you properly!"

Ezra couldn't help but laugh at this, giggles heightened when Tristan's eyebrows furrowed. Relief washed over him like a gentle wave, warm throughout his toes.

"I had a whole plan!" Tristan continued.

"I'm flattered, genuinely," he chuckled. "Are you always this cute when you complain about being kissed?'

He had said this to get a rise out of him, but got more than he had anticipated when he was backed up against the viewport, wide hands gripping his hips as he was pressed into the cold surface. He felt his toes leave the ground as Tristan lifted him up slightly, fervently pressing their lips together. Ezra's eyes fluttered shut, smiling into the kiss. He snaked his legs around Tristan's waist, carding his fingers through Tristan's short hair, alternating between slick strands and the short-cropped length at the back of his neck. Tristan hummed against his lips, still mildly furious at him. His warmth countered the cold at Ezra's back, making him curl into Tristan.

"What about courting me properly?" he teased between kisses.

"Oh, fuck that," Tristan grumbled, squeezing his hips and pushing into them with his own. He slid his fingers up Ezra's shirt, tracing slow patterns over his stomach and nipping at his neck. The glass was now extra cold against the small of his back without the protection of his shirt, and he shuddered, shivers accented when lips met his again. The taller boy was unrelenting, waves of contentment and pleasure rolling off his body. Ezra could feel his emotions swaying as he was finally able to admit his love. He'd never felt this kind of admiration from someone before. Except maybe when Kanan looked at Hera. It, coupled with the warm mouth pressed against his, was enough to make him melt.

Suddenly, there was a rapping at the door. It slid open, horrifyingly revealing Sabine standing on the other side.

"Oh, there you are—" she faltered, her hand traveling to her mouth and a red flush blooming across her cheeks. Tristan tensed, turning his head around to look at his sister. The three of them stood silent, redder than an over-ripe meiloorun, and Ezra looked for something to say.

"S-Sabine, I—" Ezra yanked his shirt back down, wiggling so that Tristan would let him back onto his feet.

" _I knew it_!" Sabine exclaimed, a giddy smile spreading across her face.

"You didn't know anything," Tristan countered, crossing his arms. Ezra looked between the two confusedly.

"Know what?" he asked.

Sabine smiled, crossing the floor to stand next to her brother. "I knew that he had a thing for you," she said, clapping Tristan on the back. "Although, I didn't expect him to move so fast. How long has this been happening?" she asked, flicking a finger between the two.

"It's none of your _business, Sabine_ ," Tristan said, giving his sister a look. He had an embarrassed hunch in his back, arms folded over his chest as if he were protecting himself from something. It was decidedly cute, to Ezra.

"You're my brothers, and this is family business," she said factually, grinning when Tristan groaned.

"Apparently I ruined his attempt at courting me," Ezra stated, gaining him a glare from the taller boy. Sabine laughed, giving Tristan a mocking pout.

"Aww, you didn't even get to give him a weapon."

"Give me a weapon?" Ezra asked, incredulous. He smacked Tristan's upper arm. "You were gonna give me a weapon?"

"Sabine," Tristan interceded, looking desperate. "Please, don't tell mom and dad. Not yet. I want to tell them."

Sabine considered this, eyes growing soft. "Of course I won't tell anyone," she consoled. "That's not my place. Besides, I wanna see you tell them yourself," she admitted, grinning mischievously.

Tristan visibly paled at the thought. Ezra was a little weary of it, too. The thought of Ursa as an in-law made him shiver.

"Oh, and I came to find you to tell you that dinner is ready. We're all meeting in the dining room," Sabine said, turning and walking out the door with a flounce. The door slid shut, leaving the boys alone again with only the howling of the wind outside to accompany them.

* * *

The boys joined the rest of the Wrens at the dinner table, which had been extended to support the new attendees. Ursa and Alrich sat at the head, with Kanan, Hera, and Zeb on one side and Sabine and two empty chairs on the other. Tristan slid into the chair next to his sister, and Ezra, suddenly very aware of himself and everyone around him, sat at the end of the table. He was still very agitated from the situation in the practice room. On the silent walk down the hall, he tried focusing on anything else but the boy walking next to him. Try and try again, all he could think of was Tristan pressed up against him, strong arms wrapped around him, his own fingers tangled in his hair.

Fortunately, the company didn't much look up from their discussion to acknowledge their presence— except for Sabine, of course, who gave the two a giant grin. She and her parents had changed into more casual wear, as well as Tristan, who had left Ezra outside his door while he changed. He was wearing a dark, reddish-purple shirt with a low, golden embroidered collar, had a thin, black cloth belt wrapped over his shirt and also over his black pants. When he had emerged from his room in the ensemble, sleeves cursedly rolled up to his elbows and revealing his forearms, it took all of Ezra's willpower to not push him back into his bedroom and climb him like a tree. Tristan unfortunately seemed to notice the state he'd put Ezra in and appeared to be enjoying it immensely, despite himself.

"Where were the two of you?" Kanan asked, looking to Ezra when he scooted his chair, a little too loudly, up to the table.

"Uh...Tristan showed me the, er..." Ezra panicked when he faltered, forgetting the words he'd wanted to use. Blinking, he glanced at Tristan, who didn't meet his gaze.

"Sparing practice," Tristan said simply, his typical stoicism coming in handy in this situation. Kanan was quiet for a little too long for Ezra's taste but seemed to buy it, turning to pass Hera a plate of round, cooked, buttery greens. Sabine was watching them in an I'm-not-watching-you sort of way, focusing on the conversation she was having with Hera but sparing the two glances every once and a while.

"Thank you for dinner," Hera said, nodding to the Countess. "Your hospitality is greatly appreciated. You've already taken in so many of your people."

"It's nothing," Alrich said, pouring himself a drink from a pitcher. "You cared for our daughter when we couldn't, and helped her rescue me from the Empire. It's the least we could do."

"If you ever need anything, Clan Wren will always be here to help," Ursa agreed.

Ezra tuned the conversation out and reached for the pitcher in front of him, peering at its contents. It was dark, about the same color as Tristan's shirt, and felt oddly warm. He poured himself a glass, sniffing at it. It smelled of unripe berries and honey, also as if it had been sitting out uncovered for a week. After a tentative few seconds, he put the glass to his lips and took a sip, trying not to pull a face as the warm, bitter mixture touched his tongue. Zeb and Tristan picked up on this, the former letting out a quiet chuckle at Ezra's expense.

"How can you drink this?" he whispered, placing the glass on the table.

"I don't think it's that bad," Tristan said. He held a plate out to Ezra. "Cushnip?"

After everyone had finished eating, the table was cleared and everyone settled back into their seats. Zeb looked as if he were going to fall asleep in his chair, haven eaten enough for a small army. Ezra had picked at his food, feeling extremely bothered by the Countess's gaze. He felt as if everyone knew what had happened with him and Tristan, as if the Force had betrayed him and broadcasted the event live for the galaxy to see, and they were all too polite to say anything. Somehow, Tristan remained straight-laced through it all, finishing off his food and sitting back in his chair. Ezra tried to focus on the conversation, but kept getting distracted by Tristan's arms. Every time he lifted a hand, gestured mid-sentence, or even flexed his muscles involuntarily, Ezra thought he'd start beeping like a thermal detonator and explode. Sabine was, graciously, keeping the focus off of him, but it wasn't too long before his attention was called.

"I'm glad that my son and your pupil have gotten to know each other," Alrich said.

Ezra, who'd been taking a sip of that god-awful wine, nearly spat it out. He disguised it as a light cough, covering his mouth with his elbow and refusing to make eye contact with Kanan— not that it mattered.

"There aren't a whole lot of men Tristan's age here in the stronghold, and he hasn't been able to leave for so long," Ursa said, sparing Tristan a pitied glance.

"Yeah," Kanan agreed, nodding in Ezra's direction. "We're on the move so much, so Ezra's really only had Sabine since we picked him up."

Tristan was simply acknowledging the conversation with a small, polite smile, while Ezra pleaded for death. Anything, to get him away from Sabine, out of the room, away from these other people. Something in the back of his brain was telling him that everyone was suspicious, that they knew something. He could feel Sabine's eyes on him, practically boring into his skull.

Suddenly, Sabine yawned, stretching her arms above her head dramatically. "I don't know about you all, but I'm exhausted." She turned to her mother and father. "What are we doing about sleeping arrangements?"

Ursa thought for a moment. "We have one of the smaller spare bedrooms left that we have not offered out yet, for times like these. Kanan and Captain Syndulla may take it— that is, if they'd like."

Hera looked to Kanan and the two had one of their weird, wordless conversations that lasted only five seconds, but in reality, would have lasted five minutes. "Sure," they both agreed.

"I have an pull-out cot in my room that Zeb can have," Sabine said. She turned to her brother, almost too quickly, and asked, "Would you be willing to share with Ezra, Tristan?" her tone disgustingly sweet. Ezra almost glared at her, and would have had he not been in this situation.

"Sure," Tristan said, shrugging nonchalantly, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "I don't have a problem with that."

Ezra nodded slowly, feeling as if it would be unnatural if he piped up. "Sounds good," he said, voice only cracking a little bit.

With that, the Countess stood up from the table, signifying that dinner was over. The plates were cleared by a service droid as the Wrens and the crew left the table, Zeb grumpily shuffling after Sabine to find the cot he was bound to collapse on as soon as he found it.

"I'll bring you and Kanan a set of pajamas," Ursa said, showing Hera and Kanan into the hallway. Ezra and Tristan followed, not too close behind and not walking too close together. Alrich, to Ezra's horror, decided to walk with them down the hall, rather than with his wife.

"You seem like quite the accomplished man, Ezra Bridger," Alrich said, holding his hands behind his back as he walked. Ezra heard Tristan sniff, amused, to his other side.

"What do you mean by that, sir?" Ezra asked, after struggling to find his words. All that was on his mind was biceps. Large ones.

"You're a Jedi, and a commander of the Rebellion at eighteen," he said. "And, if I know my son, he can be picky about who he likes, just like his mother. If both my daughter and my son enjoy your company, then I know you must be a good person."

Ezra went quiet for a moment, the compliment rushing though his head like a sudden shock of adrenaline.

"I, uh...thank you, sir," he stuttered.

Alrich nodded. "Good night," he said with a wink. Quickly, he left the two to join his wife up ahead.

"He likes you. That's good," Tristan whispered, nodding in Alrich's direction.

"Yeah," Ezra agreed. He lowered his tone. "Now I've just got to win over your mom."

Thankfully, the two arrived at Tristan's room before anyone else's. Ezra entered after the taller boy, leaning against the door after it shut and sinking back against it. Relief washed over him, combined with the complete euphoria of being complimented by Alrich, as he looked around Tristan's room.

It was moderately sized, and nothing too special; blue-gray floors and ceilings to match the rest of the house, curtains hung in front of the tall windows to provide some privacy. To his left of the entry was a door that most likely led to the refresher, and a closet next to that. Beyond that laid Tristan's bed, partially hidden by the closet. Against the right wall was a desk, with a few papers strewn across it, and a gray steel chair to accompany it. There weren't too many decorations around, just a stand in the far corner that held Tristan's armor, and a bookshelf with a few knick-knacky sort of items on the shelves. The bright colors of the books and tiny decorations brought some warmth to the room, which otherwise would have felt sterile and cold.

"Not much of a decorator, hm?" Ezra asked, raising an eyebrow at Tristan. Suddenly, he was swept up off his feet and carried to the large bed, and laid gently into the soft sheets. Ezra spread his arms out, feeling the plushness of the blankets against his bare hands. Tristan loomed over him, half-leaning on the bed with a grin on his face.

"Not really, no," Tristan said, leaning forward. Ezra met him halfway, taking his face into his hands and brushing a thumb across his lips before kissing him. He felt himself being lowered back into the blankets as Tristan leaned into him, hands planted on either side of him. The pleasant smell from before floated to his nose and made him sigh, parting their lips for a moment.

"Can I take this off you?" Ezra asked, sliding his hands across the sleek berry fabric that was clinging to Tristan's shoulders in just the right ways. Tristan hummed, amused.

"You're impatient."

"Yes."

"I'm not one to be cajoled into bed so easily—" he said, rolling to his side to lay beside Ezra, "—especially not by the likes of you." The playful lilt in his voice made the both of them giggle.

"What, a rougeishly handsome Jedi as myself?" Ezra laughed, playing along. "Known to win the hearts of all who cross his path?"

"Ha! I'm sure," Tristan agreed, looking up to the ceiling. Ezra followed his gaze, and the both of them were silent for a moment, fingers intertwined as they reflected on the day's activities. Tristan was still next to him, eyes shut as if he'd fell asleep.

"So...what would that whole courting thing entail?" Ezra asked, breaking the silence.

"I would present you with a weapon of some sort, like a blaster or a knife, and inform you that I had chosen you as a potential partner. If you accepted, after a month we would then be formally introduced to each other's families as each other's partner. Typically, you'd make each other more personal gifts as time goes on, and there would be a public ceremony celebrating our official union, if all goes well."

"Personal gifts?" Ezra asked. "Like what?"

"Usually, it's something that means a lot to the person giving the gift. Like, if Sabine were to gift Ketsu with something, it would be art of some sort," Tristan explained.

"Huh," Ezra wondered. "What would your gifts for me be, then?"

Tristan looked back at the ceiling, a faint red color dusting over the tips of his ears. "Don't know," he lied.

Ezra raised an eyebrow and sat up on one elbow. "What do you mean, 'don't know'?" he teased, poking Tristan's side. "Come on, what is it?"

"Like I'm going to tell you," Tristan scoffed, the red flush on his cheeks darkening. "It would ruin the surprise."

Ezra dropped the topic for Tristan's sake with a shrug and rolled over onto his stomach, sliding an arm across Tristan's chest and nestling himself in the crook of his arm. He felt fingers start to brush though his hair, curiously trailing down the back of his head and his neck. The gentle pressure of his hands and the darkness of the room, with the warmth of Tristan beside him led him to shut his eyes and slowly, but surely, fall asleep.

* * *

Ezra woke early the next morning, eyes slowly acclimating to the growing light in the room. He almost forgot where he was until a loud snore from behind him reminded him of where he'd spent the night. He was chin-deep in fuzzy, warm, sweet-smelling bedcovers, with a large, muscled arm wrapped around his waist and an equally muscled Tristan pressed up against his back, snoring peacefully. The thumb across his stomach twitched at Ezra's sudden shift, but the taller boy showed no signs of waking. So, Ezra remained quiet for a while, curled up against him, soaking up his warmth and his nearness. He was eventually driven to remove himself from Tristan's iron grip, much to his dismay, by his growing need to use the refresher. He managed to roll out of the bed and the sheets and immediately regretted it when his bare feet hit the cold durasteel floor. A shiver ran up his spine, his equally bare legs developing goosebumps. He was dressed only in his undergarments and the shirt Tristan had wore to dinner—which he insisted upon waking up and changing into before going back to bed— and shuffled into the nearby room to relieve himself. When he emerged, he found Tristan sitting up on the edge of his bed, legs hanging over the side, as he gazed out the window. He seemed to be watching... Well, nothing. The snow had stopped falling, and the wind had slowed down to a soft breeze, only barely rustling the boughs of the tall pines outside.

Ezra crossed the room and inspected the papers he'd seen the night before, laying on Tristan's desk. Each one had a few lines at the top, the words spaced perfectly and tall letters written plainly. It was so well written he would have thought it had been typed out. It was in Mando'a, and therefore illegible to Ezra as Sabine had never taught him the language, but each one seemed to be unfinished, ending halfway down the page.

"What's this?" Ezra asked, brandishing a page. Tristan swiveled his head around and turned bright red, lips pursing together as he hurried to snatch the papers from view.

"It's nothing," he said quickly, opening a desk drawer and shoving the pages inside. "Just some...old stuff."

"I couldn't read any of it, you know."

Tristan frowned a little, shoulders relaxing. "Oh," he said simply.

"But I could always learn," Ezra suggested, smiling when Tristan's eyebrows lifted. He crossed his arms, leaning a hip against the desk and crossing his legs.

"What is it, though?" he asked again, "Ya know, since I can't even read it."

Tristan shuffled his feet, eyes flitting around the room instead of meeting Ezra's gaze. "Like I said before, it's none of your business."

Suddenly, Ezra's discarded comlink buzzed and beeped from its spot on the floor. The boys sighed, realizing their time together was being cut short.

"That'd probably be Kanan. You're going to have to leave soon," Tristan said. Ezra could tell he was trying to hold back his disappointment, most likely for his own sake, if anything.

"You gonna miss me?" Ezra teased. Tristan took both his hands and held them to his chest.

"I always miss you when you leave. Every time you left here, I didn’t know if you would end up coming back again."

"Oh, gods," Ezra gagged. "Don't get all sappy on me."

Tristan bowed his head, smiling a little. He considered the hands he was holding for a moment.

"Will you miss _me_?" the taller boy asked. Ezra opened his mouth and almost cracked another joke, but hesitated when he looked into widening brown eyes. He was genuinely being serious with this question, worried about whether or not Ezra felt the same.

"Of course I'll miss you," Ezra said, feeling warm flitting feelings in his stomach again when Tristan smiled in relief. "It's not like I'm gonna lose interest," he joked.

"You'll call often?"

"As much as I can, when I can. If Kanan and Hera allow it. Don't wanna send up too many red flags, with the Empire and everything."

Tristan nodded, dipping his head down to kiss him again. This was only the fourth time he'd kissed him, but it felt so natural to lean into his arms, and push himself up onto his toes to make it easier for the both of them. They only released each other when the comlink buzzed again, demanding Ezra's attention.

Tristan disappeared into the refresher while Ezra slid back into his normal clothes, wistfully placing Tristan's shirt in the laundry chute. He tugged his fingers into his gloves and grabbed the comlink from his belt, which now seemed to be beeping angrily at him.

"Good morning," he greeted whoever was on the other end. Kanan snorted in response.

"Now you pick up. You ready to leave? Zeb and Sabine knocked all the snow off the Ghost already."

"I'm on my way out. Let me finish getting dressed." Ezra hung up on that note, reclipping the comlink to his belt as Tristan reemerged from the refresher, rounding the bed to start putting his armor on. The boys finished dressing quickly, both stopping right in front of the door. Ezra looked up at Tristan, who gazed down at him solemnly.

"So. Back to normal, then," he stated, tucking his helmet under his arm.

"I suppose so."

Tristan reached for the door's control panel, hesitated for a moment, then bowed down for a quick peck on the cheek before putting his helmet on and unlocking the door.

"You need to hurry up and tell your parents about us, because all this secrecy is going to kill me," Ezra noted, walking into the hallway. Tristan chuckled, looking both ways and checking for warriors as they walked along.

"It's going to be hard. Well, with mom, at least. She's warmed up to Kanan, but I still don't think she likes you too much. She says you're immature."

"Well, that's reassuring."

The boys crossed the stronghold quickly and made their way outside, finding their way through the tall drifts to the landing pad the Ghost occupied. The warriors were working on digging and melting paths to the rest of the landing area, and uncovering their fighters. Even some of the citizens were helping out, the strongest among them carrying snow away. Zeb was hanging beneath one of the wings, clinging to an outcropping with his feet and clearing snow out of some grooves in the metal hull. Kanan and Hera were talking with Alrich and Ursa by the boarding ramp, which Chopper wheeled up and down, carrying parts to Sabine and Zeb.

"Ah, there you are," Alrich greeted them, clapping Tristan on the back. "How did you sleep with a roommate, son?"

"It was fine, he wasn't much of a bother," Tristan lied. Ezra envied his helmet in that moment, wishing he had something to cover his face. Ursa was eyeing him with her usual muted disdain.

"Ezra? Not much of a bother?" Zeb asked from his spot, incredulous. "Ezra's been my roommate for four years, and he's _very_ much a bother."

"Well, no one asked you," Ezra shot back, gaining himself a chuckle from Alrich and Kanan. "I can behave myself when I need to. Maybe you're just fun to mess with."

Zeb grunted and went back to tightening bolts. Ursa's demeanor visibly softened at the Lasat's expense, a faint smile crossing her face. A small victory.

Sabine hopped down from the top of the Ghost, dropping a wrench into Chopper's outstretched appendages. The droid wheeled over to Zeb and took his tools as well, climbing back up the ramp to put them away.

"It's all ready to go," Sabine said, planting a hand on the ramp's hydrolic lift. "Everything's clear."

"Thank you, Sabine. And thanks again, to the both of you," Hera said, turning back to Ursa and Alrich. They nodded, both hugging Sabine and leaving to assist the warriors in cleaning up. Sabine and Zeb boarded with Kanan and Hera, leaving Tristan and Ezra outside. The taller boy gestured behind him at the snow drifts.

"Well. I gotta go help dig my house out," Tristan extended a hand, and Ezra took it, gripping his forearm as he'd seen the other Mandalorians do. He wished he could pull him in and hold him, throw his helmet to the ground and kiss him goodbye, feel him pressed close to his body one more time. But they both knew that was impossible for now. So, this handshake had to take the place of it.

"Bye, then. See you soon?"

"May the Force be with you," Tristan agreed, nodding and releasing his grip. It was such a simple farewell, but Ezra could tell that it meant more than that.

Tristan turned away first, and Ezra watched him leave, already feeling very blue. Chopper, who had remained at the top of the ramp, grumpily warbled behind him and reminded him to board the ship before they took off.

Ezra made his way to the cockpit and sat in his chair, only half watching as the Ghost climbed through the atmosphere and into the black void of space. The swirling blues of stars rushing by engulfed the ship, leaving Krownest far behind, and for the first time in his life, Ezra wished he was there instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Cushnip is a bread-like food seen in TFA that I found on Wookiepedia. Tristan writing poetry is a joke I made on my Tumblr but I think I actually wanna roll with it.


End file.
